


Life Moves Pretty Fast

by homestucksick



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Humanstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 14:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12773313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homestucksick/pseuds/homestucksick
Summary: In which a chance disaster manifests as beautiful serendipity.





	1. One — One girl’s bicycle.

Rose was quick to exit the bookstore and close up shop for the evening that day. The evening was warm and comfortable with a sort of airy breeze that blew fringes to life and blew newspapers out of existence. Gentle pigeons pecked, sat atop a dustbin, for crumbs of baguettes. Rose smiled encouragingly, refraining from shooing them off before locking the store behind her. As she turned this time, though, walking across the pavement with a small bundle of books tied together in the palms wherein she was cradling them, a faint “ding” chimed throughout the streets and she awoke from the slumber of Summer mundanity. Her alarm: the sudden thud of a bike.

  
Sent crashing to the ground with her stack of books, Rose felt frail, her leg cold as she lost sensation therein. She yelped out in pain and gritted her teeth, eyes welling up as the pain swelled, growing intense. She looked up, ready to curse whoever had been responsible for this calamity. As she did so, the evening sun’s light caught the magnificent tan skin of the woman standing over her. A short, delicately coiffured, wave of black hair backdropped this angelic figure and for a moment Rose was oblivious to all suffering. The woman spoke, frantically apologetic. “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry.” She must have begun. “I didn’t expect for you to step back from the shop that way. I’m so sorry. How are you hurt? Is it not good? Shall I get you help?” This rogue stranger had already begun to collect the scattered books from the ground, piling them neatly together and tying them up in a neat bundle once more for completion’s sake. Rose was still a touch too dizzy with pain, her head swimming with confused hormones and flooded with synapses zapped from confused thought processes.

  
“Yes. Please. That would be. No. No — I am quite all right. It’s merely leg pain. I’ll maybe need some help in walking home, however. My name is Rose. I’m sorry you hit me.” Rose spluttered out unclearly, only properly annunciating her own name.

  
“Oh. You need help walking to your home?” This stranger asked, a touch of a notably foreign accent underlying her enchanting husky tones.

  
“Yes. I suppose I will. Would that be okay? You seem to a cyclist, so I can only assume I’ll be inconveniencing you if you’re planning on bringing that along. Especially considering that there are no bike racks too close by.” Rose giggled nervously, somewhat hysterical from pain. “Don’t blame me for this shop being in an alley street in the old town. I didn’t buy the property! If you want to tuck your bike away anywhere, you can hide it in the entry hallway of the shop. Just ensure you don’t take up too much space. Please don’t make a mess.”

  
The stranger was undoubtedly bewildered by the suddenness of all of this, her face shrivelling up magnificently in places as her brow furrowed, confused. She took the keys from Rose’s hands delicately, anxious of hurting her anymore, and wheeled her bike in, nestling it neatly against the wall in the entryway of the shop before locking up once again. She offered the keys back to Rose, who acquiesced and took hold of them once more before requesting a hand to get back on her feet. Once she had arisen from the ground, Rose took a slumping stance with the stranger, arm coiled around her waste as her injured leg assumed a limp. This would be temporary, easily. Rose was not worried in the slightest about waking up tomorrow with debilitating bodily pains and a broken leg. The only roadblock to the day ahead was now getting home.

  
“My name is Kanaya.” The stranger confirmed, holding Rose close in a gentle grasp. “I shall not let you go, do not worry. I’m still so sorry of my crash.”

  
“It’s really no issue to me, Kanaya. Your name is something exquisite.”

  
“Ah, thank you!” Kanaya smiled gorgeously, teeth a white contrast against the soft lips that ensnared them, autumnal in their colour. Rose smiled back out of compulsion. It would be criminal for her to not do so for such a stunning stranger.

  
“I’ll just guide you back to my place. Do you mind staying with me until I know I’m okay? I might need some close attention, considering I live alone, just to ensure that I make it through the night with no further complications. I don’t mean to be a tyrant.”

  
“No, no! It is okay with me. I was not busy tonight, in fact, just going to be home on my laptop. You know how it is, I am sure.”

  
“Kanaya, you’re doing as we’re all thinking. Carpe diem, ma douce amie.” Rose sighed, surprisingly joyous for a woman who had just lost the use of her leg. And so they limped on, slowly, towards the quaint street on which Rose dwelled.


	2. Two — Tender idleness.

The blonde sat, leg outstretched as best it could be on an old oak coffee table. Her tattered couch was a being of thrifty origins and so too was the blanket draped around her form to hibernate. Her apartment was small yet the walk up the stairwell had seemed insurmountable, even with the aid of this angelic foreigner. Rose was reclining on her sofa while aromas swam throughout the temperate air of the apartment, Kanaya busy in the kitchen. The brunette had already made herself welcome, imposing on Rose the magnificence of her culinary talents. “Woe betideth me, fair maiden. For thou art too kind.” Rose joked, a bundle of aches and fabric poking fun at her impromptu roommate.

  
“I hope that you like risotto. I have been told that I am quite good at that.” She cooed from the kitchen, looking over a work surface into the enclosed space which Rose claimed to use as a living room. The room itself was not particularly accommodating but therein there sat a table, an armchair, the beaten leather couch upon which Rose sat, and a desk against the back wall upon which Rose rested two things: books and television. The T.V. was itself underwhelming, another beast of vintage origin that was cheap and serviceable. Rose did not particularly care for the fanciful trivialities of the modernist aesthetic: besides, she was too busy tending to a crushing leg injury. Admittedly, Rose was slightly overwhelmed by the grace that followed in the wake of Kanaya’s incident. She was shocked, in fact. This magical woman had crashed her way into Rose’s life with her silly bicycle and her unkempt grasp on the English language and, yet, here she was: cooking her dinner and coddling her with a blanket. How quaint.

  
Kanaya came through into the lounge, Rose’s cat, Jasper’s, following her beautifully aromatic lead as a fantastic scent wafting into the room as she entered. In her hands were two bowls: one of which was cupped by a kitchen towel, the other she managed to subdue with her sleeve alone. The fabric of her sweater lingered when she let the bowl down on the table in front of Rose, offering the bowl with the dishtowel around it to the infirm girl on the couch, able to pacify the pangs of heat that emanated from the food. Jasper’s arrived in the room properly, nestling himself in the luxury seating of Rose’s lap. The cat felt a deep-running envy as he stared into the dish. Even Rose felt teased: taunted by the heat of something which seemed so invitingly delicious.

  
“Oh, Kanaya, why do you torment me so?” She mused satirically, dabbing the back of her hand against her forehead in a faux-swoon of pain. “First you cripple me and now you put me through agonising torture? Such cruelty.”

  
Kanaya, somewhat unsure how to take this playful banter, responded fretfully. “Oh. I am sorry. Is it not nice?” She asked in her brilliantly misguided sweetness. “If you would like I can make something else.” She added, toying with her sleeve as though out of insecurity.

  
Rose was unsure whether to continue the gambit or abandon the act. After all, Kanaya was lovely: she didn’t really even want to exact revenge, even in spite of the bike catastrophe from earlier that day. “Wait, no. That’s not what I’m saying. In fact. I’ve yet to even try it! It’s wonderful. I can assure you, it smells… très magnifique.” Rose reasoned that the hint of French might season her words with a curiously inauthentic sincerity, hoping to lighten Kanaya’s face up once more. Sure enough, the polite words, followed by a gentle smile of reassurance, soothed Kanaya’s fretful nerves.

  
The blonde bat her eyelashes in an oddly appreciative way, indulging her senses with an exquisite bite of the risotto. Her tongue was overcome with rapturous wonder as she took her first forkful, pleased immensely by her guest’s skill. She looked at Kanaya and batted her eyelids in a delicate show of appreciation. Swallowing, she spoke up: “Who taught you to cook? My goodness.”

  
“Oh. I taught myself but I was always growing up around cooking. My mother is fantastic with it.”

  
“You’ll have to introduce me to her.” Rose joked, jumping deftly on to avoid lingering on the potentially homoromantic undercurrent within this remark. “I take it that this is your own recipe. Correct?”

  
“Yes. I made it after much experimenting. I hope that it isn’t too overwhelming — I did add much seasoning.”

  
“Not at all, darling. It’s splendid. You did a fantastic job.” Rose affirmed, chewing down another forkful. Splendid did not suffice, but Rose found some way to comfort Kanaya in some earthly manner.

  
Kanaya continued on her own portion, content with its taste and its size. Despite the girl’s slender frame, her ability to consume food was robust. Powerful, even. Rose felt threatened in her own home. Finishing the last few dregs of rice, Kanaya stood up, waltzing through to the kitchen before a sound escaped Rose’s full cheeks. Rose, who had raced to complete her meal in a comparable pace to Kanaya, was gesturing the stranger for a favour. Her eyes bowed down before Kanaya’s superior elegance. “Please,” they said, “take my bowl through as well.”

  
She did so, and Rose assured her to not worry about the washing up. Kanaya, too polite and good-natured for any imperfect being, did so even despite the request. And, once she had finished, she nestled on the armchair, tucking her legs up and keeping herself warm. Rose giggled at the absurdity of it, and spanned out one of her blanket-wings. “Come on,” she suggested, “there’s room for two.” Kanaya shuffled hesitantly to the adjoining sofa and wedged herself under the warm embrace of the blanket. “Are you busy? I don’t want to keep you here tending poorly-old-me.”

  
“Not particularly. As I say, I would have only been watching Netflix! It is no problem for me to be here. I quite like it.”

  
“Oh, you. Too sweet for your own good. How could I stay mad at someone as tactful as you. Be a dear and fetch my laptop, won’t you?” Rose nudged Kanaya towards the side of the sofa, where her laptop had rested, plugged in and charging.

  
“This?” Kanaya held the slim device up.

  
“That.” Rose confirmed, nodding. She adjusted herself in her blanket, making herself more snug.

  
“If you so like, I’d be happy to allow you to stay over.” Jaspers, feeling rejected by the suggestion of Rose having company, meandered across the sofa, wedging himself against an intricately scratched apart wedge of leather that bore the mark of many evenings of catnaps. “We could perhaps watch a movie?” Rose suggested, her hand straying to win Jaspers’ affections once more. Not happening.

  
Kanaya blushed, flattered by the proposal. “Oh, no, that would be far too rude of me. Where would I go and sleep?”

  
“You could take my bed.” Rose suggested with a facile smile, her usual lifestyle structurally malleable enough to incorporate this stranger with ease.

  
“Oh, but I could not. It is yours.”

  
“Kanaya, I won’t be moving until tomorrow morning. Don’t overthink this. If you’d like to stay then it’s no problem. You can get your bicycle at the break of dawn, no?”

  
“I suppose. Would you leave me the keys to get my bike?”

  
“That I would.”

  
Kanaya’s face was overcome with a contemplative expression. “Okay. Then I shall stay. But do not expect me to be here still when you wake up. I must go to work.”

  
“I see no fault with that. Now, Breakfast Club? Or are you thinking we should just put on some series and let it lull us to sleep.”

  
“Why not put something funny on? Comedic.”

  
“Good suggestion. I hope you don’t mind if I pass out at some point, this pain has got me hellishly tired. Regrettably, getting hit by a bike hasn’t been the best thing for my health. I’m sure you understand.”

  
Kanaya prodded rose playfully with her elbow, careful as to not damage the poor girl any further. Rose laughed. Kanaya laughed. Soon enough Rose had chosen something. And, still too soon, Rose had fallen asleep. The other girl watched happily as the puffy, sleep-riddled, cheeks of her new petite blonde friend inflated and deflated with quirky whistling snores. Rose was drifting off unconsciously, feeling a warmth within her that seemed to spread to Kanaya as the observer gradually ensured her friend’s wellness.

  
Soon enough, the lights were off. Kanaya and Rose, friends by curious fate, were asleep, the brunette resting her luscious waves of her on her smaller friend’s shoulder, snuggling up to slumber. So the pair rested, lulled to sleep by the purr of a cat and the reassuring lullaby of the tempo of one another's breathing.


	3. Three — Hope you get the memo.

When Rose awoke she was alone. A sickly taste of sleep lingered in her mouth as she wobbled her way, frailly, to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Jaspers was nowhere to be seen. Rose was a tad shaky as she walked but her leg was healed. Her brief time with Kanaya had perhaps even cleansed her skin. Rose smiled into the mirror, scrubbed teeth shining on a backdrop of a pale white face. Happy.

  
The previous night had been so surreal, recounting it in her head. She needed breakfast, certainly. She poured out some cereal in the kitchen, boiling some water for a morning mug of tea as she did, and out of the corner of her eye she saw a note, scribbled in a green biro pen in grandiloquent cursive handwriting. “Rose, I hope that you do not feel annoyed that I have gone to work. I left the windows open so that you would not get too hot. Your cat snuck out at around this time but I am afraid I did not have time to get him back in. He is probably out in the stairwell. I think he will be back in time for some food. (His name was Jaspers, I thought.) I have left the keys to the bookstore within the shop itself and I took my bike. Have a lovely day. Best of wishes. Kanaya M.”

  
Rose’s stomach turned to an incomprehensible puddle of feelings. As she showered, the only thing on her mind was the absolute sweetheart who had been her nurse the night prior. She hummed a lovely tune as she washed and could only wish to have Kanaya as an audience. Her drying off process was frantic, hurried. She wanted to be out of the house. She wanted to be in the outside world because beyond this apartment Rose and Kanaya technically shared a small, wonderful, world.

  
As Rose was readying herself to leave, she tugged on a lilac cardigan but could not bring herself to step beyond her door once she noticed a blob of moss-green fabric. Kanaya had left her sweater. She must have taken it off in the night — likely too warm. Rose felt another emotional bump and then sighed, gliding across the room to fold the garment into her bag. The door closed and Rose smiled, hobbling a little bit before making her way to work, out of her apartment and beyond into the wider world. The bookstore’s door was open, not locked. No bike, now. And Rose laughed.

  
She looked around, assuming a position beyond the cashier desk of her thrifty literature fortress. A nomadic hand groped under the desk, into one of the alcoves that the employees wedged their reserved books into. The hand dug into the section labelled Rose, digging out a current read. The book that hugged the leftmost side of the shelf below was a small book of poems. On the back of the book, as was standard fare for the store, was a little code and then a category. This book, wedged in Rose’s little corner of the reading world, was categorised as part of the “GAY/LESBIAN” section.

  
This little detail had acted as an invitation, or so it would seem. Opening the book for her day-to-day cursory glance through the pages, Rose noted some writing — that same green biro font that she had seen in her apartment. A smile broke onto her face.

  
“Rose. I am sorry that the leaving was sudden. I wish I could have stayed longer but I am busy. Still I would like to try and know you more. It seems like you and I have a shared interest in books.” Kanaya broke the note up with a doodled winking face. “I have to be going now. Here is my number. Be sure to call. Have a lovely day. Kanaya M.”  
Rose slipped the little poem book into the pocket of Kanaya’s sweater, which she slipped back into her bag. Somebody was getting a present next time they met, Rose reasoned, her head swimming with a nauseous affection. And so she was unable to sit still for the rest of the day, putting in the most energetic shift she had in days just to race to her finish line: Kanaya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks. Thank you ever-so-much for reading. If you enjoyed, then please don't hesitate to share this work around or to show support. If you didn't (or if you did) please drop some criticism down below in the comments. Have a lovely day — once again, thank you for reading. <3 
> 
> — Holly.


End file.
